


Don't Kiss, Just Touch

by tattoos_n_honey



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BAMF John Watson, Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic and Bi Understanding, Imagination, Jealous John, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, They're all gone, Ungodly amount of italics, What do Mary and Rosie have in common with my sanity?, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-11-28 04:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattoos_n_honey/pseuds/tattoos_n_honey
Summary: "So, you've never had a proper kiss?""No, not one with… Sentiment."





	1. Liar, Liar.

John groaned as the sun poured into his room, waking him up from his deep sleep. He ran his fingers through his hair as he took a breath. A smile stretched across John's lips as he realized it was his day off. Coffee sounded great right about now. The doctor sat up and read the clock on his nightstand. 8:27. He had slept in for about an hour and a half. Not surprising as he had spent the day before trying to keep his eyes open at dinner. His body popped as he stood. After putting on his robe to make sure he was decent, he started the trek down the stairs to the kitchen.

Sherlock, who was still his bedclothes and blue dressing gown from when they finished a case two days ago, was sitting in his chair. He seemed to be reading something intently on John's laptop. Seeing as there was no longer a reason to yell at the younger man for touching his belongings, there was no stopping it, the doctor simply greeted him as he grabbed two mugs. A small grunt came from the sitting room. "Have you eaten something?" John asked, already knowing the answer. Sherlock looked at him with a face that said, _don't be stupid_. John gave a small nod and grabbed some bread, eggs, and butter.

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock protested. John cut a hole out of the center of the bread. He was making egg in the hole, which just so happens to be one of Sherlock's favourites. Not that anyone knows that. The sound of bread sizzling in the buttered skillet caused Sherlock's head to pop up.

Neither of them spoke as Sherlock migrated to the kitchen table without the laptop. Though, John did smirk.

The coffee was done the same time John finished up their food. He poured the coffee, adding sugar to Sherlock's, then grabbed the salt and pepper. John liked a little seasoning on his breakfast, but Sherlock liked a little salt and lots of pepper. Once their food was ready and plated, John set everything on the table. Sherlock sat at the head of the table, back to the sitting room, while John sat to his left so they didn't bump elbows.

Sherlock pulled apart one of the two bread circles, John knew Sherlock liked them a lot so he always gave him his own, and dipped it into the egg yolk. John sipped at his coffee, "Any cases?"

"Nothing of interest to me. Four teenagers stealing medications from their parents, three cheating spouses, two cases of forgery," Sherlock explained as he finished up one of the circles.

John chuckled softly, "And a partridge in a pear tree?" Sherlock just looked at him with a blank face. "Never mind," John spoke as he cut into his meal. Sherlock just hummed but continued eating. Days like this are always nice. To everyone else, it was a normal Wednesday. Rushing to work or school, praying for Friday to come along to save them so they can sleep. Here, in 221B, it was different. No case, no client, no pressing issue other than finishing their meals before they became cold. The doctor watched the younger man nibble away at his food.

John secretly loved taking care of Sherlock, even if it was as small as him consuming something John made. Sherlock's eyes no longer calculating, but warm and relaxed as he drank his coffee.

The moment broke when the computer pinged, signalling a new email. The pair turned their heads to look at the laptop sitting in the black leather chair. The detective jumped from his seat and brought the laptop back to the kitchen table.

Sherlock scanned the message quickly, his eyebrows raising and wiggling at seemingly random points. John thought he looked so cute like this, like a child reading a book they've been waiting for. "Finally," Sherlock stated, shaking John from his stare, "a good client. This sounds like it's maybe a five, but it has potential."

John turned the computer to himself so he could read it.

\---

_Hello, Sherlock Holmes._

_My name is Olivia York and I need your help. A man that I do not know has been stalking me for a month now. The police are not able to help me as he has not hurt me or broken into my flat. I've had this feeling of being watched for weeks. My friends have said that they saw someone following me. They gave me a small description, which is all I have. Before I only felt a presence outside or in public, but now I feel it when I'm at home. I hear sounds while I'm in the shower or eating breakfast alone. I am worried that they will escalate into something more. Please help me._

_-Olivia York_

\---

When he was done reading, John looked up at Sherlock. "Ok, email her to meet us-" He started, but Sherlock grabbed the computer away.

"Yes, yes, I will have her come here at once to talk more," Sherlock told him, immediately typing up a response. John gave a small smirk then stood to clean the dishes. At least Sherlock ate some of his food.

***

A few hours later, Sherlock sat in his chair, now fully dressed, as they waited for the client. John had changed into a pair of jeans and his oatmeal jumper with his notepad on his lap. He was just about to ask why this case seemed to be interesting when there was a knock at the door. The older of the two stood to answer the door. The woman standing there had to be in her mid-twenties. Her straight and naturally red hair fell halfway down her perky chest. She wore a blue and white tie-dye tank top, a black leather jacket, and a pair of form-fitting jeans. "Hello, you must be Ms. York, I'm John Watson and that's Sherlock Holmes," John greeted.

"Yes, I know, you two are quite popular," She responded, her green eyes twinkling at John. The man lead her to the seat in the middle of the room. Sherlock began to ask questions.

"So," He started, crossing his legs and placing his arms on the armrests, "you have a stalker, correct?"

Olivia nodded. "Yes, it started roughly a month ago. I'm a barista at the moment and I was working a late shift and had to close up," she told them as John took notes, "It was minimal at first, I felt like someone was following me, but I thought it was just me being paranoid. Then my friends began to say that they kept seeing someone near me. At restaurants, clubs, my work, the tube."

The detective hummed lightly. John lifted his pen to signal he had a question, "You said you're a barista _at the moment_. What are you planning on doing?" He shifted slightly as he saw Sherlock smirk out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh," Olivia squeaked, "I'm an artist. I'm trying to save up so I can get my studio off the ground."

"Won't work," Sherlock interrupted and leaned forward, "now, you said you had a description of this man?"

Olivia's sweet face turned into a scowl, she puffed up her chest slightly.

"I have a sketch of him," She corrected as she reached into her white backpack and pulled out a sketchbook. Oliva opened to the correct page and handed it to Sherlock. He looked at the picture. Not much older than Olivia, squared chin, hair shaved on sides and spiked up in the center, thick eyebrows, plush lips, soft eyes. Objectively, one would find him attractive.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and passed the item to John. The detective looked her up and down. "This man, you are positive you have never seen or conversed with him?"

Olivia shook her head hard, her hair swinging slightly, "God, no."

"Alright," Sherlock said, then his whole attitude changed, "When did you start to worry about your safety?"

John's head popped up from the picture and looked between the woman and his flatmate. She pointed her chest closer to Sherlock, her voice slightly higher, and her face softer. Sherlock, on the other hand, made his expression and body language more open. Olivia gently pushed some hair behind her ear and looked down softly. The detective responded by flicking his eyes to her lips.

Baffled, John stared as the pair continued to, do _that_. He had no idea what was going on. Sherlock never showed sexual interest in anyone so why now? John's fist tightened as Sherlock bit his lip teasingly. The two stared in silence until John cleared his throat rather loudly.

 Sherlock and Olivia began to laugh softly. _Why are they laughing? Why is_ Sherlock _laughing?_ John cleared his throat louder. "Here you go," he said as he handed the sketchbook back to the young woman. She thanked him but gave him a small glare for interrupting.

"Well, I believe that's all I need," Sherlock said with a smirk. He stood to walk Olivia to the door. John heard the door creak open but looked when he didn't hear any steps down.

He turned to see Olivia writing something on a piece of ripped paper, "Call me. If you find anything, of course."

Sherlock took the paper and returned the smile. "Of course," he purred, "have a nice day, Ms. York." She bit her lip then turned and walked down the stairs. Sherlock shut the door softly. The second the door was closed, he proceeded to move towards the window. He shifted the curtains back to watch Baker Street.

"What," John began, "the bloody hell was that?"

"Flirting."

"I know that! Why the hell were _you_ flirting?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scowled and looked at John. He turned back to the window and held up a finger before John could continue. A few seconds later, he returned to his seat. "Ms. York was lying. She has no stalker. She didn't check the windows when she came in or seem on edge when she left. That sketch was too detailed to be from a few eyewitnesses, it had to be made with the subject sitting in front of her. She made the eyes naturally soft and lips plump, so it is probably someone with whom she has a romantic connection, probably a boyfriend. She purposely wore formfitting clothing and responded to my flirting immediately, so it was part of her plan to seduce one of us," Sherlock explained as he placed his fingers under his chin.

John nodded stiffly, "Alright, so why is she doing it?"

Sherlock gave John a delighted smile, "That, John, is what I intend to find out."


	2. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of italics in this one. Sorry.

Sherlock texted her a few hours later saying he would take the case. She messaged back almost immediately saying how, um, _grateful_ she was. John let out a sarcastic chuckle at the response. "What's the plan then?" John asked, setting his book down on his lap to look at the lanky man sitting on the couch.

"Find her stalker," Sherlock said simply, "she must not find out that we know she's lying. We will treat this as a normal stalker case until I can figure out what she and her partner are planning. I'm scheduling a meet up for tomorrow night."

"Alright, where are we meeting her?"

" _I_ will be meeting her at the pub off Creston."

John's stomach dropped as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Sherlock, I know you think you're invincible, but you are not meeting up with a woman when we don't know what she is planning."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and fell back into his sulking position on the sofa, "I know I am not invincible, John. I told her I would be coming alone so she thinks I'm there with a goal of sexual gratification," John began to grit his teeth, "you will be sitting at a booth while Ms. York and I at are the bar. You will need to keep an eye out for our stalker."

"What makes you think he will be tailing her then?" the doctor questioned.

The detective glared at him, "She came here for a reason. She is targeting us. Her partner will come because they need to keep the façade up." John threw his hands in the air and got up to make tea.

It's not a secret that John was protective of Sherlock, even more so after the whole Mary debacle. After his lying and cheating wife disappeared, with the baby no less, John started to keep his eye on the other man even more. John didn't want to admit it, but he was silently waiting for Sherlock to leave him for a final time. He didn't _want_ it, but it seemed to be a pattern.

***

The next day, John was pacing the sitting room while he waited for Sherlock to emerge from his bedroom. They're supposed to leave in two minutes and Sherlock wasn't even ready yet! The soldier stomped over and banged on the door, "Hurry up, you git!"

The door flew open to an annoyed Sherlock. He was wearing his purple shirt with the collar and top button undone, his hair was a tousled mess, and he was wearing skinny jeans that made his legs go on for miles. "Done. Happy, now?" he said as he rolled up his sleeves. John gaped at him. A groan came from the taller man as he walked away to put on his shoes. "Don't just stand there like a fish, John," Sherlock chimed, causing John to turn around, "go call a cab."

John rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket before he marched down the stairs. Sherlock came out of the flat as a cab pulled up to John. Sherlock climbed in and attempted to shut the door. "Oi! What are you doing?" John asked.

It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes, "Honestly, John, we can't show up together if I said I was going alone. Just get the next one." The door shut and the cab pulled away, leaving John on the sidewalk. Cursing under his breath, John hailed another cab and followed after Sherlock. Case or no, he was ordering a drink at the pub.

The pub was a little crowded for it being a Thursday night, but nothing too bad. John paid the driver and tipped him pretty well, seeing as John might have barked the address at him, and climbed out of the car. He watched as Sherlock walked into the pub. Sherlock had left his scarf and coat at the flat, so everyone, including John, had a view of that round arse in the tight denim. John cleared his throat and entered.

Sherlock sat at the bar, seemingly waiting for a drink he ordered. John went to the other side and got a pint, taking it with him to a booth in the back corner so he can see who comes in and out while he keeps an eye on his partner. The bartender gave the younger man a glass whiskey then went off to help the other customers. Just as John was about to look at his watch, Olivia walked in the door.

She had obviously dressed up the occasion. Her red hair was slightly curled and she was wearing a form-fitting little black dress with her leather jacket on over. A small wolf whistle came from the back of the bar. She calmly walked over to Sherlock and took the seat next time, her back to John. Sherlock smiled at her like she was an old friend making John take a large swig from his drink. The bartender took her order, made her drink, then left the two alone. She gently sipped at, what seemed to be, a dirty martini.

The doctor was too far away to hear the conversation, but Sherlock was smiling a lot. It made his gut twist. While trying to control his jealousy, he saw a man walk in who looked slightly familiar. It was Olivia's partner.

He kept glancing at the two while he grabbed something from the bar. John assumed Olivia kept looking over Sherlock's shoulder because he turned to look at the entrance where her 'stalker' was. She quickly grabbed his right arm softly to keep him looking at her. Sherlock seemed a little surprised but then ran his own hand down her arm. Her partner tensed his jaw nervously and took a seat at the end of the bar. He was fiddling with the sleeve of his dark blue sweatshirt. _He doesn't seem like a career criminal_ , John thought.

He turned his attention back to his partner and the woman with him. The pair were laughing softly. Sherlock suddenly grabbed out his phone and made a face of annoyance. He looked as if he was explaining something to Olivia before standing and putting some money on the bar, probably paying for both drinks. She grabbed his hand and seemed to ask him to stay. He politely declined and moved to leave when she pulled his face close.

Olivia kissed him. Olivia was kissing Sherlock Holmes. The man, much to John's rage, kissed back. The woman's partner seemed to clear his throat and look away. John took a long pull from his pint and tried his best not to slam the drink down.

When Sherlock finally pulled away, you think they would at least pause to breath, he looked slightly flushed. _He liked it_. Sherlock quickly excused himself and left the establishment. John phone went off before he could chase him.

_Watch them. -SH_

John huffed in anger and looked back up. The man had joined Olivia and began talking to her. His posture became tense as she leaned forward, pointing at him accusingly. He seemed to have apologized, making them both calm down. Olivia finished her drink, looped her arm into her partner's, then left.

A few minutes later, John came out of the bar. Sherlock, the bloody magician, came out of seemingly nowhere and stepped in front of John. "How did they act?" Sherlock asked.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Next time you jump in front of me I'm going to punch you."

"Unlikely. Now, Olivia," he said.

John glared at him, "Oh, yes, Ms. York. Well," he started as he crossed his arms, "after you two were done tongue wrestling, her partner came by. She seemed to have scolded him."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Come on, back to the flat. We have research to do." John just huffed as Sherlock signalled a cab, trying his best not to look south of the equator.


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stake out and chips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See if you can spot me!!

After hours of research, tea, some jealous glaring, and John taking countless walks so he doesn't strangle his flatmate, the pair found out that Ms. York had lied about more than just the case.

First off, her name was not Olivia York, it was Zoey Montenegro. She was a barista and an artist, so she didn't lie about everything. She had arrest warrants in Ireland, Scotland, and part of France. She seduces people, mostly men, then has her accomplice, who happened to be her husband, would steal the money from the victim's homes. Then out of nowhere, they began buying expansive items and staying in five-star hotels when they travelled.

"Her husband's name is Jack Montenegro and, by your description of his actions at the pub, he seems to be Mrs. Montenegro's laky," Sherlock stated, still typing away on the computer. "We will go to their hotel today and find him. He will easily be threatened by us and will tell us everything we need to know about his wife."

John walked over from the kitchen with two fresh cups of tea and placed one next to the computer as he sipped on his own. "What makes you think he'll talk to us? From the looks of it, she has him by the balls. He would be scared of us but he's probably petrified of her," John reasoned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up at the doctor, "Yes, but we can tell him that he will be safe after his wife is arrested."

"Will he?"

"Doubtful. Reduced sentence probably."

John nodded, "Alright, when do we go?" Sherlock took a swig of his tea and stood, heading to the door to grab his coat and scarf.

"Right now," he said and he ran down the stairs. John gulped the rest of his drink down and followed him. Once he was out of the flat, John hopped into the cab Sherlock had called over. "Park's Diner," Sherlock said to the cabbie. The man nodded and pulled into the street.

"Park's? I thought we were going to the hotel?" John asked.

"We are. Mrs. Montenegro was close enough to Baker Street to walk, she didn't call a cab when she left. Though, she was too far from the pub to walk so they had to take a cab. There are three hotels within a reasonable walking distance but only one has five stars. Juliette Heights. Across from there is Park's Diner where we can wait until Jack leaves."

John nodded and sat back. Then he realized something. "Wait," he commented, "If the hotel is walking distance from the flat, why are we in a cab?" Sherlock just gave a little smirk and shrugged. John rolled his eyes and laughed.

When they arrived at the diner, Sherlock paid the driver then walked inside. There was a small booth in the back corner with a window facing the hotel entrance. The taller man slipped into the booth gracefully while the other man scooted into the other side, back to the wall. A man with a lip ring and eyebrow piercing walked up to the pair. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, grabbing his notepad from the apron around his waist.

 John looked at Sherlock. He was staring out the window, completely focused. _Maybe I can trick him into eating some more_. The doctor smiled up at the young man standing at the end of the table, "Just a plate of chips, please." The waiter nodded, his brown curls bouncing slightly, and turned on his heel to get their food. If Sherlock was distracted enough, and you got one of his favourites, you can get the detective to eat. They sat in silence for a bit. "Do you think she's smart?" John asked out of nowhere. Sherlock looked at him.

"Who?" Sherlock questioned.

"Olivia, err, Zoey."

Sherlock pondered the question for a bit. "On a basic level," he explained, "Yes. She seems to be more clever than most, but nothing worthy of note." The waiter came back and placed the chips on the table then disappeared again. The steam rose to Sherlock's face as he sniffed. He quietly took one, making John smile as he took one of his own.

"Do you like her?" John spoke before he ate the chip.

Sherlock seemed confused as he chewed, "Of course not, she's a criminal. Yes, people are stupid enough to let their guards down when there is a chance for sex, but she still robs and exploits them." John mumbled something before scarfing down another piece of food. "What?" Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes, though he started to feel embarrassed for letting his jealousy come through, " I said you seemed to like her at the pub."

The detective just huffed, "I was playing a role, John."

"So you can tongue a woman on command, is that it?"

Sherlock pushed the plate away from himself, "If it comes down to a case, yes. I will-" Sherlock cringed slightly, " _kiss_ a person if it is required. And _she_ kissed _me_ , not the other way around."

"You certainly didn't object to it," John countered.

Sherlock chuckled darkly and looked out the window, "Oh, John. Just when I thought you were getting a bit better a deducing." John had no time to ask what Sherlock meant because he immediately was pulled away from the booth to follow the man who had just left the hotel.


	4. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has some questions for Mr. Montenegro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Toxic Relationship

Jack, Zoey's husband, had walked out of Juliette Heights and began to walk down the street. Sherlock, the long-legged git, quickly caught up to him. After a lull in the crowd, Sherlock shouldered him into the nearby alley. Sherlock put up a hand before Jack could shout, "Please don't yell, this is already tedious enough without you making a scene."

"What the hell?" Jack said before he realized who was standing in front of him. "Oh, no," he whispered. Sherlock just gave a tight-lipped smile. John popped around the corner looking like he was going to punch someone.

The who, though, was up in the air.

"Sherlock, we talked about thi-" John started as he glared at the taller man.

"Yes, yes, no running off without permission. I'm not a child and he was getting away," Sherlock explained as he gestured to the man cowering against the wall to his right. "Anyway," he continued, "now that we are all here, let's have a chat. Starting with what your wife is planning."

Jack gulped and pushed himself off the wall, "You're Sherlock Holmes," he whispered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded, "Yes. I am. This is John Watson, and you are Jack Montenegro. We all know each other, now tell us about Zoey. What's her plan?"

"I can't tell you, she'll kill me," he told them, looking at the street, presumably, to see if she was there. Sherlock grabbed his arm and dragged him further down the alley, John close behind. Jack was maybe an inch shorter than Sherlock, and the detective seemed to use that to his advantage as he crowded him against the wall.

"Tell us," he growled. John cleared his throat, jealousy and some arousal attempting to fight each other in his chest.

"Fine! She, she was planning on doing what she normally does on cases like these," the scared man started, getting Sherlock to back up a step, "A man with, um, good money, or high social status. She," Jack winced, " _sleeps with them_ , makes me record it, then we blackmail them."

John tensed, "Who else has she done this to?"

Jack's eyes widened as he looked to the shorter man like he had forgotten he was there. "Uh, maybe six or seven men over the past two years or so?"

"And you don't care that your wife is shagging other men?" John asked.

Sherlock glared at him, "Of course he cares, did you not see him wince? We need to work on your observation skills." John was about to yell at him when Sherlock turned back to the other man, "Do you still have the recordings?"

Jack looked disgusted as he nodded, "Zoey likes to keep them as insurance."

"Excellent. Now, I trust you will not speak a word of this back to your wife. You wouldn't want her to know you let out her little secret, I don't believe she'll be very nice." Jack's brown eyes filled with fear as he shook his head. "Good, thank you for your help."

The detective turned and walked out of the alleyway to call a cab. John gave a short, "Ta," before following him. They both climbed into the car and went back to Baker Street.

"Before you say anything, yes, I did pay the waiter for the chips. Probably a bit more than needed, but he won't object, being a uni student," Sherlock said.

"Good, but I was going to ask if we were going to contact Lestrade."

"Yes, but not right now."

John looked at him, "Really? So what are you going to do, Mr. Scary Detective?" Sherlock just glared at him as he pulled out his phone.

Once they arrived back at the flat, something clicked with John, "Sherlock," he started as the man in question removed his coat and scarf, "do you happen to know what Zoey actually _does_ to Jack?"

Sherlock fell back on the couch in his 'mind palace' pose, as John calls it, his hands coming up to rest under his chin. "If you're asking if she _physically_ harms him, no. She does care for him, but she doesn't show it correctly. She gives him luxury items, like the shoes he was wearing - easily a hundred pounds, but does threaten to take them away. They both most likely grew up in poverty, his situation more severe than hers, so he stays with her because he doesn't know if he can afford the lifestyle that he has become accustomed to without her."

"So, she's an evil sugar mama?" John clarified. Sherlock lifted his head to look at the doctor, who was still standing at the door. "You don't know wha - alright, a sugar mama or daddy is a person who pays for everything and buys their girlfriend or boyfriend, or sugar babies, expensive gifts, like cars, jewelry, and things like that." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John waved his hand as he walked to the kitchen, "There were all sorts in the army."

John heard Sherlock's lips smack, "Then, yes, she's an evil," the detective hesitated, " _sugar mama_." John just nodded as he filled the kettle with water. "By that logic, would that mean I'm your sugar-"

"No! Stop right there!" John yelled as he turned to glare at the man, "I am not your sugar baby. You pay for _some_ things, not _everything_ , and you never buy me gifts."

"Would you like me to?" Sherlock asked. The response he got was John threating to burn his lab notes from his last experiment.


	5. La Mer Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John go to a fancy restaurant, but things don't go as planned.

Two days had passed without incident - if one doesn't count Sherlock and John fighting about which shelf in the fridge is for experiments and which is for _food I plan on_ eating _, Sherlock, not food with_ mould! - when Sherlock received a text from Mrs. Montenegro. She had stated that she wanted to go out for dinner but didn't feel safe unless Sherlock was there.

Or, how John, correctly, interpreted it, 'Let's go on a date so I can shag and rob you later.'

John wasn't the best at hiding how much he hated that she saw the detective as a pay raise. After Sherlock read the text out loud, he looked at John and told him to stop making _that_ face. "What face?" John had countered.

Sherlock waved his hand, "The face you make when something is bothering you."

"Then stop doing things that bother me," John responded, standing to make some tea. Sherlock rose from his spot at his desk to follow.

"No, you are only bothered when we talk about Mrs. Montenegro, not-" then Sherlock made that sound that he only does when he's cracked a case. John froze as he filled the kettle. "Oh, you're _jealous_."

John placed the kettle down on the stove, "That's ridiculous."

Sherlock crossed his arms, the buttons on his white button up straining as his maroon dressing gown flowed, "You are! You're jealous that Zoey chose me as a target instead of you." John's mind short-circuited. _How could a genius be that bloody thick_ , he thought. When he came back to the conversation a few seconds later, he heard, "-but I had responded to her flirting initially. Also, I am the one with the money."

"What?" the doctor questioned as he looked back at Sherlock. He seemed slightly flustered and a bit sad, but it went away almost immediately. Almost.

The detective cleared his throat, "You heard me perfectly fine. Also, I'll have some tea as well," he said before he turned to go back to his desk. He stopped halfway and looked over his shoulder, "And you may want to calm down a bit before we meet her tonight." John nodded stiffly and when back to the tea.

John soon returned to the sitting room and placed a cup next to Sherlock's computer then sat down in his chair to drink his own. "Do you have a plan yet?"

"A vague one, yes," Sherlock stated and he struck the keys of his laptop quickly, "she has informed me that she wants to go to a seafood restaurant called _La Mer Divine_."

"What does that mean?"

"It's French for _The Divine Sea_. I'm looking it up now to get an idea of the layout and see where the best vantage points are." A few moments later, Sherlock piped up again, saying, "There appears to be a bar in the center of the main dining room." He turned in his seat and faced John, "Alright. You will go in before us and sit at the bar. I'll wait outside for Mrs. Montenegro then head in with her. I will try to steer us to an area you can see. Based on what her husband has told us, she will try to seduce me and attempt to have me bring her here. You will follow us after we leave."

John grunted before swallowing his tea. "Ok," John continued, "so what will we do then?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, "I will act as if I really _am_ taking her to bed," John's chest tighten, "you will stay outside the flat and wait for Jack to come in to make the sex tape. Once he is in, call Lestrade, and come in. Once he gets here, they will be arrested. Zoey is not one for leaving her things at her house, so the other tapes should be in their hotel room."

John did not like this plan at all. John would have to wait outside while Sherlock had to seduce _someone else_? A _criminal_? "By the way," Sherlock interrupted, "this is a high-end restaurant-"

"Gathered that by the name, yes," the doctor responded, trying not to dwell on the beginning of the conversation.

Sherlock gave a mock smile, "Yes, well, that means you need to, well, freshen up, so to speak." John raised an eyebrow. "What is it _now_?" the younger man complained.

"Nothing," John mumbled and his lifted his teacup to his mouth again, "you just sound like Mycroft."

John doesn't think he's ever seen Sherlock so offended. His mouth shaped a little o and his eyebrows scrunched together. He looked adorable, so John just smiled. Sherlock's lips tightened before he swallowed and stood, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. "Go shower. You reek of body odour," he spit back, the normal venom replaced with pouting. He then shouted that they would be leaving in an hour as he retreated to his room. John just chuckled, happy that the tone had shifted from work to friendliness, then rose to take a shower.

When the doctor was almost done washing himself, he heard someone stomp up the stairs, stay at the top for three seconds or so, then stomp back down. John quickly finished up and wrapped his robe around his body before walking out the door. Sherlock sat in his chair with his phone in hand. His curls falling delicately around his face. John looked his fill before asking what the noise was. "Your outfit for tonight," was all Sherlock had revealed.

"Oi, what's wrong with my normal kit?" John asked. Sherlock looked him up and down, then looked him in the eye with an eyebrow raised. "Shut up," said John, trying to hold back his laugh. They shared a smirk before Sherlock told John to get dressed. John nodded and walked up the stairs to his bedroom. When he opened the door, he noticed a black garment bag laying across his military made bed. On the floor were black dress shoes.

He opened the bag to find a dark blue suit jacket, a white short-sleeve shirt, and trousers matching the jacket. It all looked lovely but _expensive_. And by the look of them, John didn't know if they would fit. "Well," he whispered to himself, "let's give it a go."

The suit fit him _marvellously_ , it hugged him in all the right places. John had pushed his hair back a bit then went back down the stairs. He stopped at the door as he straightened out the cuff. "How in the hell did you get this so quickly?" He asked Sherlock, shifting his weight to his good leg. Sherlock, too, had fixed himself up, trading his dressing gown for his own black suit jacket. They almost matched. The taller man simply put his phone in his jacket pocket, stood, then walked over to grab his coat.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he smiled as he swung the Belstaff around his shoulders. He looked John up and down then seemed to wipe something off his left shoulder then left his hand to rest there. "This colour looks good on you."

John didn't know how to respond. This gorgeous man had his hand on his shoulder, was less than a foot away from him, and was giving his such a lovely smile. But before John could even open his mouth, Sherlock continued down the stairs. John just stood there for a moment before Sherlock told him to hurry up. He quickly turned and ran after his friend, trying not the think about what would have happened if he had leaned forward towards him.

The cab ride to the restaurant wasn't bad, well, it wasn't till the cab driver decided to ask, "Date night?" John couldn't really blame him for assuming that. Two men were dressed up and on their way to a snazzy restaurant on a Sunday night.

"Um, no, we're not gay," John said. Which wasn't _exactly_ true. He was bi, just hated when people assumed that a bi person with someone of the same sex was automatically gay, and god knows whatever the hell Sherlock was. He assumed he was asexual, but with the case and a certain woman from the past, John didn't know what to believe. The cabbie seemed awkward from then on. When they arrived, John and Sherlock got out and stood to the side.

"Be careful," John said then walked in. He sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey. It was going to be a long night. A few minutes passed, and Sherlock hadn't come in. _Zoey is probably taking her sweet time_ , he thought.

Suddenly, the sound of squealing tires came from outside, then someone screaming.

" _Help! Someone's been kidnapped!!_ "


	6. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's been taken. Now John has to get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Kidnapping, a reference to rape.

John ran out of the restaurant, the sounds of the bartender yelling about payment fading behind him as he made it out to the street. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Car horns echoed in pretest as the getaway car weaved through traffic. John turned to the woman who had screamed. "Who was taken?" he asked. He knew the answer, just didn't want to accept it.

"I- I don't know. He was tall, had, um, he had black curls? I-" She said frantically.

If the situation was different, John would have comforted her, but he didn't have time. "Did you see the car?"

She nodded and swallowed, "Yes. It was a dark blue jeep." John was about to ask if she had noticed the license plate when he remembered something.

After a particularly bad case, Mycroft had taken their phones and added government grade tracking devices. You would have needed a laptop and three hours of time to kill to disable it. John quickly opened his phone to look up Sherlock's location. The small blue blip was already blocks away, heading towards Somers Town. John ran down the street and hailed a cab. Once he got in, he yelled directions from the GPS on his mobile.

John tried to think of a plan. He didn't have his gun on him, Sherlock's plan didn’t require a gun and there was no way he was going to get it into a fancy restaurant. Zoey wasn't stupid so she probably had a gun. Not exactly a fair fight. When he looked back at his phone, the blip had stopped moving. "Take a left here," John announced. The driver did as he was told.

There was an abandoned store two blocks down. His phone confirmed his theory, placing the blip in the building. _That's it!_ "Pull over!" John yelled, already moving to get out of the vehicle. The cabbie slammed on the breaks before having an angry soldier yell at him to call New Scotland Yard and say _John Watson needs back up_.

John ran to the building and stopped right before a window. He quickly glanced inside but saw no one. He looked at the ground and saw a tyre iron. "Running into an abandoned building with a tyre iron to rescue Sherlock," he whispered to himself as he picked it up, "just like old times." He steeled himself from the memory before slowly opening the door. The only light in the room came from the street lamps outside and the light from under the door leading to the back room.

The soldier was back in the war, creeping around to save the hostage.

John walked farther into the room. Sounds of someone walking echoed from the back. Light on his feet, he ran to the other side of the room and pressed his back against the wall as he listened. Heavy steps - Jack - walked up to the door and slowly opened it. The door opened towards John, effectively hiding him. An arm popped out from the threshold, gun in hand. The hand in question was slightly shaking. John's mind picked up the pace.

Shaking, likely first time holding a gun. Then he realized Jack's critical mistake. Tightening his grip on his weapon, John waited for Jack to enter the room. Once he was fully inside, John slowly closed the door. Jack quickly turned, only to have John kick his legs out from under him. The gun skidded across the room as Jack fell to the floor. John got on his knee and leaned close to his ear. "If you even think of making a sound, I will knock you out," John whispered harshly.

Jack nodded quickly then brought his hand up to his mouth and made the motion of zipping his lips. John thought to himself for a quick moment then said, "Actually, I don't trust you," before punching him in the face twice, rendering him unconscious. After shaking his hand out, the doctor rose to his feet and walked over to the gun. John slid the tyre iron into his right trouser leg and picked up the gun. He checked how much ammo was in it - it was full - then turned off the safety. "Amateur."

Making his way back to the door from where Jack entered, he pressed his back to the other side from where he was before. John gently opened the door. Peeking through the crack, John could see Zoey.

She was standing behind Sherlock, probably trying up his hands. His legs tied to the chair he was sitting on. The detective's Belstaff and suit jacket were gone, head was down, and his whole body was slack. John scanned his body for some kind of movement when Sherlock's head lifted a little, exposing the cloth gag in his mouth. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes," Zoey purred, moving her hands to rest on his shoulders. He groaned in response as he flexed his arms. "Don't try, Sherlock. You might be awake, but you're still weak," Zoey chuckled as she stepped in front of him, her back to John.

Even dazed, Sherlock still managed to shoot an annoyed glare at her. "Oh, don't give me that look," she spat as she put her right hand on her hip, "you wouldn't be in this mess if you had just followed the stalker case." Sherlock rolled his eyes and attempted to shake. Zoey lifted her leg and put one high heeled foot between Sherlock's legs to hold the chair down. "Oh, darling," She whispered as she grabbed his chin, making him look up at her before kissing his forehead, "you're not getting out of here."

John threw the door open and walked in, holding up the gun. "Yes, he is," he commanded. Zoey slid behind Sherlock again, this time pulling out a pocket knife and holding it to his neck. She peeked her head out from behind Sherlock's right shoulder. "Let him go," John demanded as he moved to stand a meter or so in front of Sherlock.

"Hm, I don't think so," She hummed. She dragged the back of her left hand over Sherlock's cheek, "He's quite smart. I think I'll keep him."

"He's not up for grabs," John said.

She let out a tiny gasp, "That's right. You two are," gripped Sherlock's curls and pulled his head back to expose his throat better, her lips ghosting over his cheek, " _partners_." Sherlock squirmed, attempting to get away from the contact. She pulled back and looked John in the eye. "You know, while he's here, you can do whatever you want to him," she commented. Zoey kept her grip on his hair as she used the blade to pop off the top button on Sherlock's shirt. The detective squeezed his eyes shut.

Possessiveness coursed through John's veins, "Get your hands off of him."

"Why? Would you prefer they be yours?" She asked as she undid another button. "Don't you want to see him? You can have him any way you desire."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Oh, struck a chord, did I?" She questioned as she moved the knife to open Sherlock's shirt more.

John sniffed and cocked the gun in his hand. "Last chance."

"Or what? You're not going to shot me. I'm too close to your little crush."

"I'm a good shot." _Lestrade better be close_. Zoey didn't look scared. She looked confident.

Sherlock tensed as she pressed the cold metal against him. "Good enough to save him?"

John had to come up with a plan quick. "Alright," he whispered. They held eye contact as he released the magazine into his right hand. He kneeled down and placed it on the floor. He then uncocked the gun, letting the bullet clink against the ground. He hesitantly placed the gun down before standing again, raising his hands up above his head. Zoey looked pleased. John cast a glace at Sherlock. God, did that sight hurt him.

Sherlock looked terrified. If he wasn't at full attention before, he is now. His chest was rising and falling quickly as his eyes scanned his face. Zoey removed the knife as she stood. Once she let go of Sherlock's hair, she walked over to John. She kept the knife pointed at him as she kicked the gun away. She gestured to Sherlock with the blade, "Go on. I know you want to."

The soldier faced the man strapped in the chair. He lowered his hands and took two steps forward. Sherlock bit into the gag and whimpered as if in pain, though he didn't have a mark on him. Zoey stood back to watch. John's heart broke when Sherlock shook his head in fear.

Then the shorter man winked.

In the blink of an eye, John had pulled the tyre iron out of his trousers and turned to swing at Zoey. The sound of metal hitting flesh echoed in the room, followed by the sound of weight falling to the ground. John stood over her and watched for her breathing. Her back lifted and fell. _She's still alive_.

Knowing he didn't kill her, John turned back to Sherlock. His eyes were wide and some of his curls were sticking to his forehead from sweat. "Oh, god, Sherlock," John sighed. He quickly moved to untie Sherlock's legs then shifted behind him to untie his hands. Once free, Sherlock ripped the gag out of his mouth. "Sherlock, don't -" was all John could say before Sherlock moved to stand.

John shoved the chair out of the way to catch Sherlock as he started to tumble. Sherlock fell into John's arms, letting him guide him gently to the floor. "Shh, Sherlock, it's alright. You're safe now. I promise," John whispered as he pulled the shaking man close. He continued to comfort the man as police sirens came closer.


	7. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes breakfast again and the two of them need to talk.

As usual, Sherlock refused to let the medics look at him. He yelled that he was fine over and over. "Sherlock looks a bit shaken up," Lestrade said as he walked up behind John. The doctor glanced at him and sighed before turning back to look at the madman.

"Yeah. This case was a bit different than most," he explained.

Lestrade nodded, "I'd assume so based on your kit." John looked down to see that he was still wearing the suit. He simply looked back up and shrugged. "Well," the inspector said as they both looked back at Sherlock, "you should probably take him home. You guys can give your statements tomorrow. He looks as if he's about to chin someone." John nodded and said a quick word of thanks before jogging over to his flatmate.

"Don't touch me! Where is my coat? I want it back!" Sherlock spit.

"It's being held as evidence," said a rookie cop off to the side.

Sherlock stomped over to the man - well, boy, really. "Bring it to me. Right. Now," he hissed at him. The rookie's face paled before turning and running to get it.

"Was that really necessary, Sherlock?" John asked as he approached him. Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, just waited for his coat. John rolled his eyes and waited with him. The officer came back with both Sherlock's suit jacket and Belstaff. The detective snatched it from his hands and began to walk towards the main road to catch a cab. John whispered a quick thanks to the young man before chasing after the Sherlock. "Not even going to talk to me?" John questioned. Again, Sherlock didn't look at him.

After a cab pulled up to the curb, Sherlock opened to door for John to climb in. John looked up at him only to see Sherlock staring down the street. The older man got in and shifted to the other side of the car. Once the other man sat down, John said the address, and they were off. Back at the flat was no different than the silent car ride. When they made it to the top of the stairs, Sherlock immediately went to his room. He didn't even remove his coat or shoes.

John walked over and stood in the kitchen for a moment, wondering if he should go in. Best to leave him alone for now. Seeing as it was now almost midnight, the shorter man then went into the loo and started his routine for bed. Once he was done, he glanced at Sherlock's room one more time before heading up to his own. His room was cool when he walked in. He took a deep breath before shutting the door and turning on the lap, connecting his phone to the charger beside it.

It felt nice to pull off the clothes from the night. He didn't want to through them in the hamper, clothes this fancy obviously had to be dry cleaned, so he neatly folding them and placed them on top of his dresser then places his dress shoes next to his closet. John slipped on an old shirt before climbing into bed. He laid on his back and looked at the ceiling. He tried not to think about the fear in Sherlock's eyes when he turned off the lamp beside him and attempted to sleep.

***

John had woken up in the same position he had fallen asleep in. He was laying on his stomach, face still smashed into the pillow, but now with added drool staining the white case. He moved to sit up and shook the sleep from his head. His phone pinged, causing him to hum in surprise as he quickly turned to it. The man turned on the lamp and unplugged his phone, shifting back to rest against the headboard.

**_Greg Lestrade: Be here at 10 am for paperwork._ **

His phone read that it was four minutes after eight. After sending a quick text of confirmation, John rose from the bed. He pulled his dressing gown on and tied it close as he went down the stairs to make breakfast. John didn't acknowledge the frown that spread across his face when he saw that Sherlock wasn't in the sitting room. He padded across the room and looked in the fridge. _Maybe a good breakfast will lure the man out_. After a bit more searching to see if they had all the ingredients - which they did because John had some spare time the day before - he grabbed everything he needed and placed it on the counter.

Yes, egg in the hole was one of Sherlock's favourites, but Johnny cakes were his number one. John started by reaching for a mixing bowl. Once he was absolutely positive that no remnants of experiments past were in the said bowl, he measured out the cornmeal and water and began to mix them together. The doctor turned chef then added some milk before placing a pan on the stove to preheat.

John began humming as he spooned the complete batter into the pan. You're supposed to place some kind of oil or bacon grease into the pan before the batter, but Sherlock would refuse to eat it if it wasn't dry grilled. While the Johnny cake was cooking, John realized he needed syrup, causing him to grab it from the fridge and place it on the table so it could become room temperature. He walked back to the stove and lifted a corner of the cake to make sure it was the right colour. It looked almost burnt, which was actually what he was looking for.

The smell of the breakfast food filled the room when he flipped it. When it was done, he transferred the finished product to a plate, covering most of the dish. He had made enough batter to make two for each of them. While the second to last one cooked, John started the coffee. The aroma of it joined the Johnny cakes in the air.

A minute had passed before the sound of a door opening and closing emanated from behind John, followed by feet shuffling to seat at the opposite end of the kitchen. John smirked as he platted the last Johnny cake. He grabbed two forks, two knives, and the plates then went to set the table. Sherlock was sitting at the seat he also sat at when he was eating - the one at the head of the table, back to the sitting room - and was wrapped in his sheet. His hair was standing up in all areas and pointing in all different directions.

But he looked so small and sad.

John carefully placed his meal in front of him then set his own plate down at the seat next to the detective. He turned back to the counter to fill two mugs with coffee and added sugar to one of them before returning to the table to eat. They sat in silence as they ate, but it wasn't comfortable like it was last time. This time it was tense like one wrong move would have the capability to ruin everything around them. Sherlock poured the syrup onto his Johnny cakes before cutting them into little squares. John cleared his throat as he cut into his own.

"Lestrade needs us at NSY at 10," He spoke before shoving the food into his mouth. Sherlock, who had been nibbling on a small stack of the squares, stopped. He placed his fork back on the plate and closed his eyes. "Sherlock," John started, "what's wrong? Why are you being so silent? I mean, I know there are times where you don't talk but-"

"That's never happened before," Sherlock interrupted. John looked up at him with furrowed brows. The detective moved his hands to his sheet, pulling it tighter around his body. "No one, not even when I was.." he paused, he didn't want to speak of that time again, "I had never been offered up like that. I was beaten and tortured, but never.. that."

John's heart broke. Sherlock took another breath before continuing, "I - I had never experienced that. And, when you put the gun down I was worried that-"

"Stop right there," John spoke up. Sherlock looked at him, surprised. The doctor scooted his chair closer to the other man and grabbed his right hand from his lap, holding it in both of his own. "Sherlock Holmes, I will never ever do anything to hurt you. I have before and I hate that I did. But now, I will do everything in my power to protect you."

The room fell silent, the food was forgotten, the coffee growing cold, everything was still apart from the breathing of the two men in the flat. This time it was Sherlock's turn to break it. Their eyes stayed locked as Sherlock whispered.

"What are you trying to say, John?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally grew up eating Johnny cakes, and though I can't find the actual recipe, I used a different one as a reference. Here it is if you wanna try it!
> 
> https://www.bingingwithbabish.com/recipes/johnnycakes?rq=Johnny%20Cakes


	8. Speak Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where their characters change. I see Sherlock as a disaster gay and John as a soft but reluctant bi. If this isn't how you see them, sorry not sorry.

_What are you trying to say, John?_

The question hung in the air like a foul smell. John's jaw tensed as he tried to think. He had thought about how he wanted to tell Sherlock this - obviously - but he never thought it would be like this. He thought it would be after a case, adrenaline pumping through their veins, ending with one of them pushing the other against the door in a bruising kiss. Not once did he think he was going to confess his love over forgotten coffee. "Um, I," he stuttered. John turned his head, looking at his barely touched breakfast.

"John."

The man in question whipped his head back around to see Sherlock looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. The sight broke his heart. He lifted his left hand and gently cupped the younger man's cheek. "Don't cry, it's nothing bad. At least, I hope not," he attempted to joke.

Sherlock just blinked. His face gave no indication he was scared, but his eyes were filled with fear and his right hand was shaking in John's. "Just tell me," he pleaded.

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I love you," he whispered. He heard no response. The sound of his heart pumping filled his ears, his face looked as if he was preparing for a landmine to go off. Which, honestly, he was expecting. What he wasn't expecting was Sherlock pushing back John's chair and climbing into his lap to hold him in a hug. Which is exactly what happened.

Tears were running down the right side of John's neck where Sherlock's head was buried. John immediately went into caretaker mode. He pulled the detective close, his right hand tangling into his hair as his left arm wrapped around his waist to hold him in place. "I love you. I love you so much. God, Sherlock, I adore you," he mumbled into his hair.

"I love you too," Sherlock said between sniffles. John felt his eyes begin to sting as he began to cry as well. They sat like that for a while, just crying into each other's arms. Nothing else mattered or even existed outside of the kitchen. Nothing but the sound of deep breaths, the smell of cold Johnny cakes and each other.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours had passed before John pulled back. "Hey, look at me," he spoke softly as he moved his hands to rest on Sherlock's waist. The detective slowly sat up, he picked at his fingernails, casting shy glances at the other man. John looked at Sherlock with nothing but fondness in his eyes. Sherlock's eyes were red, cheeks decorated with streaks from tears, and his sheet had fallen off his right shoulder. He looked ethereal and just - "Perfect," John whispered.

Sherlock began to blush and went to retreat back into John's neck. John simply put a hand to his chest. "Stop," Sherlock whined, dragging out the o. John laughed at the sight before him. How someone could be so angelic yet so childish was beyond him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" the angel asked.

"Like what?" John responded, his lips twitching from a smirk to a full smile.

The man in his lap blushed again, "Like I'm," he whispered. He pressed his lips together like he was trying to find a way to explain it that would make sense to John.

 _God, he's adorable_ , John thought.

Sherlock's hair bounced as his head popped up a little, "Like I'm some kind of small animal." John laughed again, his shoulders shaking with it. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "What?"

"How am I looking at you like you're a small animal?"

"It's your eyes. It's the same look others get when they want to baby something they think is -" Sherlock stopped short on his sentence. John raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. Sherlock looked down and pulled his sheet tighter around himself before whispering, "something they think is cute."

John used two fingers on his left hand to lift Sherlock's face to look back at him. "Well, you are cute. Especially like this," he commented. The other man glared, even though he was blushing. "Can I kiss you?" John asked. Sherlock immediately became a stuttering mess. He shifted uncomfortably in John's lap. John removed his hand from his face and placed it lightly on his bare shoulder, "Hey, it's alright. I won't."

"I want you to," Sherlock blurted out before reeling back, "it's just,"

"How about your forehead?" John suggested. Sherlock looked up at him as if he had just cured cancer. Like he couldn't think of something as simple as that. His mind must be more out of control than normal, John wondered. The detective nodded. A smile spreading across his face, the doctor moved some stray curls from Sherlock's forehead and pulled him close. His chest began to ache from how gently the kiss was. His lips barely pressed against Sherlock's forehead once, twice, then lingered a third time.

Sherlock gave out a small shudder at the contact. They leaned back and looked at each other. They could both get used to that.


	9. Shower and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit steamy in the bathroom of 221B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE CHAPTER I'M NOT DEAD

There was a lot of reluctance to get up after John realized the time. They had about thirty minutes to get to NSY and both of them still had to get ready. Sherlock stood and walked to the bathroom to shower, his sheet dragging behind him from where it was wrapped around his slender torso. John cut up the last remnants of their breakfast to save for later. He lifted his own plate and began to scoop the pieces of Johnny cakes into a reusable container. John found an empty spot in the fridge next to a jar of - what he could only assume was - pickled eyeballs. He had just finished washing the dishes when Sherlock opened the bathroom door.

"Shower is yours, now," he announced before walking into his bedroom. Only a towel was around his waist and John's eyes were glued to the piece of fabric. _No, your friendship_ just _changed. Give it some time, you dog_. He ran a hand through his hair before heading to shower, willing his eyes to stay forward. John turned on the water to let it warm up as he undressed. He stepped in as soon as it wasn't freezing. The room still smelled like Sherlock's posh shampoo. It was a soft earthy smell, but not like dirt, it was like mint and olive oil. John loved it. He took a deep breath, imagining Sherlock's hair pressed into his face like it was moments before.

The thought of Sherlock in his lap came back to him. What if it had gone differently? What if John was able to kiss Sherlock's plush lips? What if he was allowed to grab the man's hips and pull him closer? Be able to feel the sigh on his mouth as they began to slowly rut against each other. John's eyes closed before he unconsciously ran his right hand through his wet hair as he gave out a small groan. Before he could think better about it, he wrapped his left hand around his swelling cock. His head fell forward when he moved his other hand to tease his right nipple.

All the while, the little show in his mind didn't stop. The Sherlock in his head was moaning in his ear. John imagined the hands on him was Sherlock's. One of Sherlock's hands roaming around his chest while the other stroked his hard dick. He bit his lips to keep his moans from being too loud. His hand sped up as his mind changed directions. His Sherlock was no longer stroking him but was sinking down onto his lap. John imagined the tight warmth he would be in and slammed his right hand against the shower wall to brace himself.

"Oh, Sherlock," he breathed, making his hand speed up to match the pace of his mind Sherlock's bouncing. John's breathing came out in pants before he went back to gnawing on his bottom lip. The pain grounded him for a moment. He ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, making him whimper. Placing his forehead against the wall he brought his right hand down to fondle his balls. "Oh god," he whispered.

The Sherlock in his head whimpered John's name and came in his lap, his come painting streaks along his chest. John tightened his hand to mimic how he thought Sherlock's walls would pulse around him and that was all he needed before he came on the shower wall with a low groan. Once blood flow when back to his brain, John realized what he had just done. He also realized that wanking over your best friend who you just confessed love to was a bit.. weird. He quickly splashed water on the wall to clean it before going about washing his hair.

John got out, wrapped his dressing gown around himself, picked up his bedclothes, and retreated up to his room to get dressed. He mentally scolded himself as he pulled on his oatmeal jumper. _Sherlock will obviously be able to tell that you got off to him, you git_. When the doctor was fully dressed - and tried to hide any indication that he, ya know \- he made his way into the sitting room to find Sherlock sitting at his desk. He looked as prim and proper as always.

"Are you ready to g-," Sherlock started but once he looked up at John the sentence died on his lips. John only thought of one thing.

_Shit._

Sherlock rose from his seat and grabbed his Belstaff, swinging it around himself to put it on before adding his scarf to his ensemble. The only thing that was new was the small blush building up on his cheeks before he whispered to John, "I see you had a nice shower." Then it was John's turn to blush. Before he could say anything in response, Sherlock bolted down the stairs. John just sighed and grabbed his own coat to chase after him.


	10. Ground Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a talk.

After a slightly awkward cab and lift ride, the pair finally made it to Lestrade's office to give their statements. "Oh, great, you're both here! Take a seat, I have to go talk to someone quickly then I'll be right back," the inspector said before jogging out of the room. Once the door was shut, the boys took their seats and waited for the man to return. Then, at the same time, they both decided to break the silence.

"About this morning-," John attempted.

"I should say some-," Sherlock spoke. They both froze and looked at each other. "You go first," Sherlock insisted. John was about to fight it, but Sherlock just tightened his gaze.

John nodded and took a breath, looking at the floor. "About this morning," he tried again as he turned back to the younger man, "I didn’t mean to make you feel.. uncomfortable." Sherlock nodded and looked at the floor. "I meant what I said at breakfast. I guess I just got a little, overzealous," he admitted. Sherlock looked up in time to see John's face turn into a tomato.

"No need to be embarrassed, John. It helped me realize something," Sherlock assured. John was eager - albeit scared - to hear what this _something_ was, but that was when Lestrade had returned.

"Sorry! I had to get something cleared up," he said before sitting at his desk. The detective let out a groan and leaned back in his chair. Greg raised an eyebrow at John before he waved him off. "Alright then. Let's get your statements."

***

Their statements had been recorded an hour later - Thanks to Sherlock, the pouty git - and they were once again entering 221b. "So," John began he sat down on the far end of the couch, "what were you trying to say at the Yard?" Sherlock looked at him after he hung up his coat and scarf, an uncertain look settled in his eyes. John's face softened as he patted the spot next to him.

Sherlock sat at the other end of the sofa, putting as much space between them as possible. He started picking at the sleeve of his suit jacket. John gently placed his hand over Sherlock's causing the man to look up. "Sherlock. I know that neither of us are poster boys for having talks but," he moved closer to the brunet, "whatever this is, I want it to work and that requires communication."

"I know that, John," Sherlock responded. They stared at each other for a moment. So many things have happened since yesterday. It was hard to wrap one's head around it. Sherlock took a deep breath before he continued. "I think we need to make somethings clear. For one, I won't change. I don't want you to think that I will stop doing experiments just because-"

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, "I don't want you to change. I love you just the way you are. But I won't object to you cleaning the flat more often." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Can I kiss your forehead again?" John asked softly. Sherlock's face turned pink as he nodded. This time he leaned forward and closed his eyes, silently preening. John chuckled before pushing some stray curls to the side and placed two soft kisses on the oft skin before him. They both smiled when John pulled away.

Sherlock rubbed his thumb against the back of John's hand. "That's the next thing I want to talk to you about. The kissing." John nodded but Sherlock could tell he was starting to get worried. The dark-haired man took a deep breath. "I've never kissed someone."

Blue eyes squinted back at him. " _That's_ a bloody lie."

"No, no, what I mean is I've never had a kiss that wasn't for a case. It was always to get information, never recreational."

"So, you've never had a proper kiss?"

"No, not with… _sentiment_." Sherlock confirmed. John hummed thoughtfully. "That being said," Sherlock continued, "I don't know if I'm ready for it."

John tilted his head in confusion. It reminded Sherlock of a canine. His little guard dog in a way. "Not ready to kiss?" Sherlock blushed but nodded. "It's ok, I get it. No need to be shy about it. It's common for people to be nervous about their first kiss." Sherlock glared at John in a you-know-I'm-not-common type of way. Before Sherlock could say anything, John interjected with, "So where am I allowed to kiss you?"

Sherlock thought for a second before saying, "Anywhere but my lips."

A smirk made its way onto John's mouth. He lifted his left pointer finger and placed it on Sherlock's forehead, "Here?"

"..Yes, I just said so. Also, you've already kissed me there."

John moved his finger down to the bridge of his nose, "Here?"

"John, I don't see the point-" John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. The man sighed, "Yes."

His hand moved to cup Sherlock's cheek and used his thumb to stroke his cheekbone, "Here?" Sherlock blushed and nodded. John ran a single finger across Sherlock's jawline, "Here?" Sherlock swallowed and nodded. The doctor moved his hand to rest it on the younger man's right shoulder, his thumb softly caressing the pale white skin of Sherlock's throat. John kept his eyes on the pale column of flesh before repeating the question. Sherlock tilted his head to the side and made a small noise. John stared at the skin for a few moments longer. "Last time," John started, his hand moving to run down Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock's heart started to speed up. He was nervous but didn't want this to stop. John bit his lip and watched as his hand reached the top of his belly button. His eyes quickly lifted to look into Sherlock's. His hand shot up and ruffled the curls on top of his head. "Here?" He asked joyfully. Sherlock huffed but laughed anyway.

"Yes, John," he smiled. John's smile widened. He gently brought Sherlock's head down to kiss the top of his head before breathing a contented sigh.

"Always wanted to do that," He admitted. John pulled back and looked Sherlock in the eye. They both giggled.


	11. A New Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John find a new case and John discovers a new nickname for his love.

A few days had passed since Sherlock and John talked about the kissing thing. Because of that, things had changed a bit. Every morning John came down and immediately looked for Sherlock. He would kiss him every morning, depending on their moods. If both of them were happy, Sherlock would get a kiss on the forehead. If Sherlock was doing an experiment and John was happy or tired, Sherlock would get a quick kiss on the top of his head. When Sherlock was in a stope, John would place soft kisses on the tip of his nose. Every single time before John kissed Sherlock, John would ask.

"Hand?" John would ask when they were eating take out. "Hair?" he would whisper before he went to bed. "Shoulder?" he would check when they were watching crap telly. Sherlock told John he didn't need to ask every time. "But I like seeing your face light up when I ask, love," John countered. Sherlock glared at him but still blushed. John giggled but grabbed his face and kissed his nose.

The next day, Sherlock had found a case. A man's house had been robbed and only one thing had been taken - an old chain bracelet with an amethyst heart lined with silver hanging from the chain - a family heirloom. "That's all?" John asked as he played with Sherlock's hair on the couch after his boyfriend - boyfriend? Partner? They talked about kissing, not titles - had closed the laptop.

Sherlock moved to stand, sadly leaving his spot from the warm cocoon from John's arms, "It's from the Victorian era, John. With the gem intact, it will cost up to twelve thousand pounds. Not to mention that there are a group of robbers stealing precious items."

"Hm, guess I'll have to keep a close eye on you then, yeah?" John smiled before lifting Sherlock's hand to place a small kiss on the back of it. Sherlock glared, but not his why-are-you-such-an-idiot face, it was his new how-dare-you-say-something-that-cute-I-am-trying-to-be-stoic-here face. Sherlock cleared his throat and walked over to grab his coat. "We're leaving now?" John questioned.

A smile stretched across Sherlock's face and he put on his gloves and scarf, "Of course!" John stood, snatched his coat from the hook, and followed his gorgeous man out to the street to get a cab. John sat back as Sherlock told the driver the address.

Sherlock pulled his phone out and began to work on something. _Probably double-checking the status of the robbers_ , John thought. He felt something on his pinkie. The doctor looked down to see one leather-clad hand was slowly encasing his own. John leaned back a little, his face full of playfulness as he moved to hold Sherlock's pinkie with his own.

It wasn't long before they had arrived at the client's house. It looked nice. It was a white two-story with plants on the patio. The two men walked up the large black door and rang the doorbell. "This is a nice place," John commented as he looked around. He reached out with his left hand to lift the green leaf of one of the plants. Sherlock hummed. "Ya know, I would like to have some plants around the flat. Nothing fancy, just a small one," he continued. Sherlock turned to him to say something but got interrupted.

A man close to John's age had opened the door and immediately began saying, "Oh! You must be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson! Well, of course you are, I've seen your pictures in the paper. My name is Aaron Hall. Oh! My apologies, come in!" Sherlock and John exchanged a look before heading inside. The house was just as immaculate inside as it was outside. The walls were white but had framed paintings of swirling blues. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?" Aaron asked as he lead them to the sitting room.

"No, thank you," John replied. Aaron sat in an armchair, leaving Sherlock and John to sit on the couch across from him. John sat on one end of the sofa and waited for Sherlock to sit next to him. He was surprised - and mildly disappointed - to see Sherlock sit at the other end.

"I wanted to ask you a few more questions about the bracelet," Sherlock stated. The client nodded and they began talking. John didn't pay attention that much.

Hours had passed and Sherlock had found the culprit. It was a nineteen-year-old girl named Alina who had stolen the bracelet for her girlfriend for their second anniversary. Her reason was that her girlfriend loved purple and it was beautiful like her. Sherlock confronted the girl at her flat, but before he could say anything more than 'I know you stole this,' the girlfriend, twenty-one-year-old Jade, looked at Alina and scolded her for stealing. "You _STOLE_ it?! Why?" Jade yelled.

Alina looked at Jade, gently holding her hands, "I thought you would love it! And you did! I wasn't thinking at the time."

"I can bloody well see that!" Jade countered. She left the room to go to the back of the flat and then quickly returned, bracelet in hand. She gently placed it in Sherlock's left hand. Before Sherlock could pull away, she began to speak. "Please, take it back to the owner. Tell them that we are both so sorry. And please, please, please, ask them to not press charges. Alina may be a bit dull at times, but I can't live without her. I need my little sugar skull," she pleaded.

"Sugar skull?" John asked. Jade looked at him before walking over to hug Alina.

She gently brushed her girlfriend's soft brown hair behind her ear, "Yup. She seems edgy to everyone else but she's really sweet like sugar." Jade kissed Alina's forehead when she began to blush. John quickly looked at Sherlock. Sherlock scrunched his nose, trying to get the message of _shut up_ across but he ended up just looking cuter.

The boys left the flat and began walking back to the main road to catch a cab. "So," John said as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, "do you think Mr. Hall will still contact the authorities? The bracelet doesn't look harmed in any way and it was only taken by a lovesick kid."

"Trust me, he won't," Sherlock mumbled as he hailed a taxi.

He was right. No charges were filed, Aaron was just happy to have his treasure back, and Sherlock and John returned home. "I'm sorry it wasn't the gem robbers like you had hoped," John apologized as they hung up their coats. Sherlock shrugged and sat on the couch. "Indian or Chinese?" John questioned, sitting down beside Sherlock and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Sherlock responded 'not hungry' before curling up into John's warmth for the second time that day. "Chinese, then," declared the soldier. John dialled the number into his mobile and held it up to his ear. He then looked down at Sherlock's curls. He twirled a single stray curl around his finger and whispered, "My sugar skull."

When the restaurant worker answered, he heard what he could only describe as 'the sound of a mobile being smacked out of someone's hand' and laughing.


End file.
